


No One Has to Understand

by Charlotte James (Your_Twisted_Enemy)



Category: Red Dead Redemption
Genre: F/M, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Red Dead Redemption 2 Spoilers, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-09-14 01:23:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16903449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Your_Twisted_Enemy/pseuds/Charlotte%20James
Summary: Arthur Morgan has had a rough life. Everyone in his youth left him. Everyone he has loved is gone. Now, nearing his 40s and the looming boom of civilization of the American West, he is uncertain of his place in this new world. Charlotte Roosevelt is a young woman who grew up during the Antebellum Era south. Her life is also rough. For different reasons, but rough none the less. Something brings theseThen, their worlds are turned upside down.





	No One Has to Understand

**Author's Note:**

> This story begins after the train robbery outside of Valentine.
> 
> Well, hello there friends! Much like the rest of the world, I have fallen in love with Arthur Morgan. Now, this story is going to follow, as best as possible, to the RDR2 timeline. I will be taking some artistic liberties. Regardless, do enjoy the story. Comment, kudos, work your magic. And, tell me what kind of shenanigans you think the Van der Linde gang should get into besides what happens in the game.

From the journal of Arthur Morgan:

 

_ July 29, 1895 _

_ Dutch and Hosea may be the only folk who’ll never leave me. But that’s only because of how useful I am to Dutch. _

 

_ I don’t remember much of my Ma. She was probably kind, not very smart though for marrying my Pa. She liked flowers and she sang me a lullaby about stars once. I couldn’t even remember it to sing to Isaac. And Pa, he was Pa. Ain’t much of a man. I would be a lyin’ man if I said I did not get pleasure out of watching him swing when I was a kid. _

 

_ Bein’ older now, I shoulda known Mary wasn’t gunna work. Between her family and bein’ so young. I still think about her. Especially when I hear her favorite song or see her favorite animals in the wilderness. _

 

_ Even if there was Eliza. But she’s gone and left me too. She took Isaac too. Ain’t their fault though. This place is crawlin’ with bandants. I shoulda spent more time with them. Shoulda protected them. I shoulda been a better pa. I had ten years to be better than mine. Ten years to mess his blond hair. I could have loved Eliza like I loved Mary. I was still hung up on her though. Isaac never leaves my mind though. I like to think they’re in a better place now. One not so rough. I don’t know if there’s a heaven or a hell, but I do know Elizabeth and Isaac did not deserve to be in this hell. He probably would have hated me anyways. _

 

_ It’s best that I stick with Dutch and Hosea, I suppose. They may be the only family I am meant to have. _

 

-

 

_ Spring, 1899 _

_ Horseshoe Ridge, New Hanover _

 

It had been a rough road for Dutch Van der Linde and his band of merry outlaws. The Blackwater incident had dashed their financial dreams; the weeks in the mountains had dashed their spirits, broken the gang in ways Dutch couldn’t imagine. He once promised these people protection and a prosperous life in the lawless west he had loved. He had let his crew down. A notion that became more apparent when looking at Arthur Morgan. 

 

Though only nine years his senior, Dutch had come to think of him as a son. He knew Arthur’s every heartache, from Mary Gillis to the devastation of Eliza and Isaac. It was a devastation that almost led Arthur into the arms of Death herself. Dutch knew Arthur’s habits, his twitches, the mannerisms that grew from when Arthur was a young lad, determined to escape the shadow of his father and take care of his mother, to this nearly middle aged man who let no one in and yet protected all that he could. The ironic nature of Arthur Morgan made Dutch think that he messed up that boy more than his own father did. But the boy was always soft hearted once you cleaned him up and gave him folks to protect. A fact that became more apparent in the weeks since Blackwater.

 

Now, just outside of a small livestock in New Hanover called Valentine, the Van der Linde gang could recuperate and get back on its feet. The gang was back together, which was a help. Micah and Lenny, returned from whatever scraps they had in Strawberry. Sean was saved. And John was starting to get acclimated once again to life within the Van der Linde family. Life wasn’t good again, but they were on the up and up.

  
  


“Arthur, my boy.” Dutch said cooly, sitting down next to the blond in the wee hours of the morning. Most of the camp was asleep save for Charles and Lenny, both of whom were on watch just outside of the camp. “John did good.”  The leader nodded, keeping his eyes the flames.

 

A grunt came from Arthur. Of course, he agreed. The robbery went well, it almost didn’t, but it did. Arthur just wouldn’t admit it. Everyone knew he was mad at John. It wasn’t for the reasons they thought however. He thought John was smart to leave the gang. Dumb from leaving Miss Abigail Roberts and their son, Jack, behind. But smart to leave the gang.

 

Dutch laughed, patting the man on his shoulders. “You’ll forgive him one day,” Dutch mused, turning his head to face his adopted son whose eyes were trained on the journal he carried around. He had been documenting the events of the train robbery. From stealing the wagon from Leviticus Cornwall, to taking point on the job. They almost didn’t make it too. Which, in those cases, Arthur considered taking up where John should have continued.  Arthur could never do that to the man who saved him from the streets and gave him purpose. And Dutch, He couldn’t do that to them.

 

“Ain’t nothing to forgive.” Arthur shrugged, he looked up from his worn, leather notebook. He let the ink dry before closing it and placing it in the satchel Hosea gifted him for his twentieth birthday. “He did good tonight. We still have to see ‘bout tomorrow though.” Arthur pointed out.

 

And then, a woman’s blood curdling scream was heard near camp. Looking at Dutch, Arthur offered a shrug. The quickened footsteps of Lenny and Charles could be heard as the lighter sleepers in the camp poked their heads out of their tents.

 

“Wha’the hell is goin’ on?” Sean asked with his thick Irish accent as the two scouts came to their horses. 

 

“I don’t know.” Charles said, his calm voice unusually hurried as he swung his leg over his horse. “Are you coming, Arthur?” The man didn’t wait for an answer as he gave his horse a swift kick of his heel.

 

“So much for sleepin’” Arthur sighed, knowing he should do the honorable thing. Maybe if someone had heard Eliza or Isaac scream, they would still be with him today. Arthur went to Legion, his horse, swung his leg over him, and removed his revolver as he gave the horse a swift kick to his side. “C’mon!”

 

-

_ Three Weeks Prior _

_ Rhodes, Leymone _

 

“Joshua!” Charlotte Roosevelt screamed as she watched her fiance get shot in the shoulder just outside of the Gray’s Saloon in Rhodes, Leymone. While not a saloon girl, Charlotte had been there supporting her long time fiance, Joshua Gray, win multiple hands of poker. The son of Leigh Gray, the sheriff in Rhodes, had been on a winning streak these past two days. On the third day, he asked his love, Ms. Charlotte Roosevelt, to be in attendance to win the largest sum the saloon had seen since the Civil War. Charlotte could see the regret in his eyes as he fell down, blood pouring out of his back as the bullet ripped through his skin. Charlotte should not have been there that night.

 

“You shut your mouth!” A man, dressed in a grey uniform of the confederacy slapped the young blonde across the face with the handle of his pistol as the other men looted the very warm corpse of her beloved. “You know what we’re going to do with ya, Miss Roosevelt?” The man spoke with lust in his voice as the woman held her reddening cheek. Shaking her head, her blonde curls delicately followed. A whimper escaped her rose painted lips as tears fell from her green eyes. The man laughed, dragging his rough and dirty finger down her cheek. After catching a tear, he gave an ominous laugh and licked his finger. “We’re gunna have our way with you.” That was the last thing Charlotte remembered before the very same man knocked her out by hitting her head with the butt of his pistol.

 

The next few weeks happened between spells of darkness. Of what Charlotte could remember, there were talks of taking her across state lines to New Hanover to hold her for ransom. “The Grays oughta pay a lot of her, ya think?” She heard one comment. Though, the young blonde doubted it. She wasn’t a Gray, she was the daughter of a farmer who worked his land just north of Rhodes. And the Gray family did not approve of the marriage as Charlotte was not a female relation of Joshua. If anything, they would blame her for the death of their son and nephew. And not the raiders who worked closely with the Gray’s enemy, the Braithwaites.

 

It would be three week before Charlotte would become lucid, aware of her situation and of her misfortunes. Her once simple but nice green frock was torn to shreds, her shift barely covered her most intimate parts. She was tied to a tree while the men slept near the dying fire. She was exposed to the cooler than what she was used to temperatures of what she assumed was New Hanover. She knew she had to formulate a plan, and quick. She had to get away from these men.

 

“HELP!!” She cried out, moving about in hopes that the men were heavy sleepers and that she could wiggle her way out of the rope. “Help!!!” She cried again, her voice stronger as she continued to fight against the rope holding her frame to the trunk of a tree. Charlotte was figuring that the cold was going to kill her or that the men would soon enough. She mid-as-well die fighting instead of freezing. “Someone!” The men were starting to wake up now, the lightest sleeper already pushing himself off of the ground. “Please!!!” Tears were starting to form in her eyes as she began to realize that she was more than likely going to die. The man began advancing towards her, gun drawn as the others gathered the horses. She supposed that if they were going to kill her, they’d have to flee her death scene fairly quickly. She heard the man click back the hammer and  _ BANG! _

 

The man who had been advancing on her had his brains now scattered on the camp. A fire fight began to break out between the men who kidnapped her and those who were, hopefully, saving her. One of the men who took her from Rhodes moved quickly towards her and made quick work of cutting the ties that bind her to the tree. He wasn’t quick enough though. Before she knew it, his blood was splattered across her face as his body laid at her feet.

 

“Sorry ‘bout that miss!” One of the men who had just arrived said, his voice deep and gruff, as he made quick work the ropes as his comrades finished off the remaining men. Charlotte began to cry tears of joy as she realized that she had been saved. As the last rope holding her shoulders back was cut, she fell into the man and sobbed into his shoulder. The man looked to his friends as if asking to move her. One did, wrapping his coat around her as he lift her up from the man who freed her. Within the moment, she was set down by the fire, where one of the other four men began to work on the fire.

 

“What is your name, dear?” The eldest of the four men asked, his voice rough yet still charming. The blond gentleman offered her a tin of biscuits from the satchel around his waist. The man working with the fire working with a percolator for coffee.

 

“C-Charlotte Roosevelt.” She stated, her voice shaking with fear. “Please, you have to take me back to Leymone, my father….” She looked between the older man and the blond. “He has to be sick with worry. Please.” Her green eyes pleaded with them as the looked at each other.

 

“Whatchu doin’ so far from there?” The blond asked, obvious confusion in his voice. 

 

“Arthur,” The older gentleman addressed the blond. The man who had been working on the coffee offered her some, along with something more substantial than the biscuits this Arthur had offered her. “This young lady has clearly been through an ordeal.” The man continued as Charlotte consumed the canned salmon and coffee. The blond offered a shrug, joining one of the other men at the fire. 

“My name, my dear, is Dutch Van der Linde.” The older gentleman introduced himself as Charlotte began to warm up. “That man who cannot tell when a damsel is in distress is Arthur Morgan.” He nodded towards the blond. “That there is Lenny Summers.” He motioned to the black gentleman. “Charles Smith owns the coat you are currently wearing.” Charlotte tried to offer a smile to each man as they were introduced to her. 

 

Arthur looked at Dutch. It was obvious to him that cogs were turning in his mind and Arthur could not let him do it. ‘We already got enough mouths to feed!” Arthur reminded Dutch in a not so delicate manner. Arthur advanced to Dutch, re-joining him and acting as if Charlotte weren’t present. She merely pulled the coat of Mr. Smith closer to her. “‘Sides, she looks like she ain’t never worked a day in her life!”

 

“Excuse me,” the younger blonde spoke up with her cool, slow twang. “My father is a rancher. Nothin’ like those big plantation homes but that’s fine. We work the land ourselves. I know what hard labor is and I can earn my keep. I’d rather go home to my daddy though than go anywhere else.”

 

“We’re laying low.” Charles reminded the two gentleman, his eyes seem more pointed to Mr. Morgan, however. “We can’t take her to Leymone. Someone has to be looking for her.” He nodded towards Charlotte. “And it would not benefit us if one of us is accused of kidnapping her.”

 

Dutch offered a tight lip half smile to Mr. Morgan, to which, he replied with a groan. “Charles has a point, boy.” With that Arthur went to his horse. “Arthur!” Dutch called out as Mr. Morgan threw his leg over his horse, moving the reins to bring his attention to Dutch. “She’s ridin’ with you.”

 

“Fine.” Arthur said quietly, bringing his horse to where Charlotte stood. “C’mon.” He jerked his head slightly in a motion meant to tell her to help him as much as she could as he extended his arms out to her while he kept his legs tightly pressed against Legion. It would do neither of them any favors if he fell off his horse. As she placed her hands as far up his arm as she could reach, he grabbed her waist. With ease, he was able to lift the little blonde woman and place her side saddle between his arms.  With a quick spur, the gang was off. And Charlotte was off to a new camp.

 

For a moment, Charlotte felt relief. Until she remembered the last time she was on a horse. It was vivid. The fear and terror all came back to her. The memories of the rope cutting into her wrists and ankles as she felt her stomach bang against the croup of the horse as the rider went hard on horse. In the moment, her breath caught in her throat almost as if she wanted to scream but couldn’t. Just like she couldn’t scream or speak for however long she was with the men. As Arthur spurred his horse on, Charlotte took in air sharply in the form of a gasp, only to let the air escape in a shaky sob as tears began to form in her blue-green eyes.

 

“Lemme down.” Charlotte spoke with a weak voice, panic rising within her as the horse galloped in time with the other horses. Arthur thought he had heard her, he had felt her wiggle and her breathing change as her back was against his broad chest. On instinct he slowed Legion down, allowing the gang to ride ahead of them as the the blonde clearly became more panicked. No longer was she just wiggling, she pushing and looking for anyway to get off of that horse. “Please,” she spoke with a stronger voice, though it still came off as weak to Arthur. And he couldn’t blame her.

 

“Shh….” The strong gunslinger’s voice became soft for a moment. He had seen something like this before. Not from his gang, but from gangs like the O’Driscolls. The ones that didn’t care for the life of the innocent. Charlotte Roosevelt was not the first woman they had saved; she wasn’t going to be the last. “Alright, Miss.” His twang was gritty, yet still soft, somehow. Charlotte could feel the bass of his voice vibrate in his body; the vibrations were oddly comforting to her. “I’m gunna climb down off’a Legion here. Give you some space….” Doing as he said he would, he was careful not to touch Charlotte unnecessarily. Once off the horse, he pulled the reins over Legion’s head. “I ain’t gunna start leadin’ him to camp till you’re ready. Alright, Miss Charlotte?” He kept his eyes trained on her as he spoke, looking for an indication that what he had done had helped her. He may not have wanted her in the camp, but that didn’t mean that he wanted her dead or safe. Arthur Morgan always had a soft spot for a damsel in distress. And this damsel had gone through great distress.

 

Charlotte nodded in response, the panic still present in her body. Having Arthur off her back was helping, she had been surrounded by men who were far worse than these men; they had been men who took her virtue, defiled her, and made her feel unclean from the moment the one whispered in her ear. By no means, did she feel safe around the men who rescued her. Though, they didn’t take her by force, she had no other options. She would surely die in the middle of the woods, especially without protection. “Mr. Morgan?” She thought that was his name, almost certain. He would correct her if she was wrong, wouldn’t he?

 

“Yes, Miss Charlotte.” The gunslinger had been giving his horse loving pats and saying soothing words to his animal when Charlotte decided to speak. 

 

“That fella, is he gunna hold y’all rescuing me over my head?” The pair locked eyes in that moment. Where Arthur’s blue eyes dazzled in the moonlight, Charlotte’s blue-green ones had silent tears falling from her eyes. As sure as she had been back at the camp, she now had time to process the conditions of her rescuing. 

 

“Dutch?” Charlotte nodded, affirming his identity. “Maybe for a while. It’s Miss Grimshaw you oughta be worried about. She’s mighty kind until ya stop working. Ol’ Dutch….” Arthur’s hands ran through the mane of Legion for another moment before attempting to grab something from the saddle bag. The movement made Charlotte jump. “Don’tchu worry. I’m just grabbin’ an apple for Legion here.” Once again, the gunslinger did as he said he would and grabbed an apple from the saddle bag . “He may ask you to help with a few jobs here and there.” He fed the horse the apple, giving the animal more loving words with a loving pat. “There ya go boy.” The gritty twang was still apparent, yet soft and gentle when speaking to his horse. Charlotte could tell this man had more regard for life then those raiders who took her from Rhodes.

 

Charlotte pulled Mr. Smith’s coat closer, looking from Arthur to the path ahead. “You can push forward, Mr. Morgan.” With her permission, Arthur grabbed the reins and urged Legion forward.

 

“C’mon, boy.” He said gently, the horse compiling with the gentle tug. It was the start of a silent journey through the wooded land of New Hanover. It was not a long journey, which Charlotte was thankful for. As the pair came out of woods, Charlotte watched the reflection of the sunrise on the mountains before her eyes caught sight of an already bustling camp. An older, larger man was working near a fire; an older woman was gathering clothes from a line. 

 

As horses were not permitted in the Van der Linde camp, Arthur stopped just short of the first tent and hitched his horse to a post. Charlotte watched with weary eyes as the woman approached them. She looked kind, but stern. She made a note to not cross that woman.

 

“Mornin’ Miss Grimshaw.” Arthur spoke with respect for the woman. He turned his attention from the older woman to the younger. “May I help you down Miss Charlotte?” The young woman noted his kind eyes and the flip from not wanting her in the camp to being kind to her. Truth be told, Arthur felt for this woman. She didn’t chose this and, in his old age, had more compassion for the helpless. This woman was totally helpless and he was determined to help her now that she was here. Nodding, she allowed him to bring her down from the horse and held her close while supporting her back and cradling her legs while she wrapped her arms around him and resting her head on his shoulder. She found the heartbeat she could feel coming from under his vest.

 

“Mornin’ Mr. Morgan.” The woman spoke as she was about to conduct business. “This the girl Dutch was talkin’ about?”

 

“Yes Ma’am.” The gunslinger nodded, adjusting his grip on Charlotte’s torso so his hand wasn’t even close to her bosom. “Ya got a space for her?” Miss Grimshaw nodded, waving Arthur towards a tent.

 

“From the way Dutch was talkin’, it sounds like you had to rough.” Arthur looked down and noted that the blonde had quickly fallen asleep in the few steps from horse to tent. 

 

“Yeah, she’s gunna need some clothes.” Arthur spoked softly. The woman in his arms was clearly exhausted and probably wouldn’t have woken up. Arthur Morgan was not willing to wake her up.  “And time.”

 

“Of course, poor dear.” Miss Grimshaw opened the tent, allowing Arthur to place the sleeping blonde on a cot. “If you boys didn’t kill those bastards….” Arthur smirked as Miss Susan Grimshaw spoke. The woman really was a force to be reckoned with. They were lucky to have her. 

 

“She was shiverin’ since we found her.” Arthur noted, covering her with a blanket in a gingerly way. “She mentioned that she was Leymone. We got another blanket for her or sumthin’?” Arthur looked from one woman to another. The other was shaking her head. She stepped aside as Arthur left the tent and went to his own cot. He grabbed his blanket and returned to the tent Charlotte was sleeping in. Like before, he gingerly placed the blanket over her. In that moment, he noted how she slept. It was as if nothing had happened to her. The dirt on her face, her matted hair, and chapped lips (That were currently parted as she slept, Arthur noted) had been the only indications that she had gone through hardship. 

 

“Arthur, we should let her sleep.” Miss Grimshaw noted with a quiet voice, Arthur nodded. Before leaving however, he made sure she would have everything she needed should she wake up. It was a silly thought as she was in the heart of the camp and near Mr. Pearson’s cart.

 

Before leaving her side, Arthur brought his voice low and gave the cot a gentle pat. “Welcome to Horseshoe Overlook."

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this my friends!


End file.
